


Preludes

by milosdinosaur



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Aftermath of Violence, Angst, Antisemitism, Canon Jewish Character, F/M, Holocaust, Nazi Germany, Soulmates, antiziganism, canon romani character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:28:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22784080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/milosdinosaur/pseuds/milosdinosaur
Summary: In the near darkness, colour is indiscernible. The yellow of the star on Erik’s shirt doesn’t exist. They arepeople, in this darkness. Not just Gypsy and Jew. They are Magda and Erik.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Magda (X-Men)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17
Collections: X-Men Rare Pairs 2020





	Preludes

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [xmenrarepairs20](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/xmenrarepairs20) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Soulmates AU 
> 
> * only start seeing colors the moment they meet their soulmate.  
> * with powers or depowered, whatever is fine.

**1938**

Black-white-red, the colours of the Third Reich. 

Magda was still learning the name of all the colours. There were just so many. Most things were simple. Grass, for instance, was green. The room to her door was brown. Sometimes, people would combine two colours when they didn’t already have a name for that particular hue. Like orange-yellow, the colour emitted by her bedside lamp. 

Bruises were complex. They change over time. 

First, they are red. Over the next few days, they would turn blue, purple, or even black. Finally, the turn yellow, sometimes even green. Her Mama says it's a good thing, that it means things are getting better. 

She doesn’t remember much about her earliest glimpse of colour. It was her first day on the job. Her mother’s hand clutched hers as they made their way past the crowds of people, trying to ignore the suspicious looks the onlookers were giving them. They may not have been liked, but they were needed. There was always cleaning to be done, especially in a school full of German children who were destined for great things. 

A lone figure caught her eye. It was odd, seeing him drifting behind a scatter of boys when all the other children seemed to be rallying together in loud, excited clusters. 

She thought she saw a spark of blue in his eyes, but it was gone as quickly as it came.   
  


**1939**

Bruises were complex. The spreading purple and yellow blotches would eventually fade, but those were only the surface wounds. Humiliation ran much deeper. It wasn’t supposed to hurt, but a little ridicule sliced like a knife. 

“I didn’t cheat,” Erik insists.

“I know,” Magda says. 

“They didn’t expel me for cheating,” Erik said, scowling. “They expelled me because I’m a Jew.” 

“I know,” Magda says. What else could she do? 

They steal pockets of time to spend together, when they can. Magda’s face glows in the refrigerator light. The floor is cool as they tiptoe across it, hand-in-hand like schoolchildren.

She can barely see in the near darkness. In a way, she’s grateful for it. Colours made things more complicated. Yellow hair and blue eyes. Anything else was impure.

_Asozial. Schädling. Untermensch._

None of that can touch them here, where colour doesn’t exist. The yellow star on Erik’s shirt is barely noticeable, almost a shadow. They are _people_ , in this darkness. Not just Gypsy and Jew. They are Magda and Erik. 

Closing her eyes, she rests her head on his chest and lets the silence twirl around them. They move to a music only the two of them can hear. It’s far from perfect, she loses count of how many times they squish each other’s feet. Still, between hushed laughter and whispered apologies, a strange feeling rushes through her whole body: a soft warmth. Magda thinks she loves him, this impassioned boy with his flowers and handmade trinkets. Her mother explained the concept of soulmates to her long ago, how you’d meet someone and things would just feel _right_. Magda thinks that’s what they are. Soulmates. People who share colours to see the world. 

She thinks, she thinks, she wants to marry him. 

**1943**

Everything was grey. Skin. Soup. Smoke. It was smeared over every surface. It overran her lungs. Magda couldn’t tell if there was any more colour. She didn’t want to think about who she was breathing in. 

**1945**

They wandered off the main road and crossed into a forest. Sitting down, Magda took a moment just to _look_ at the nature and marguerites around them. There was a dizzying myriad of colour: green, yellow, white, red, purple. Struck by a sudden impulse, Magda plucked a random flower and ran her fingers over its velvety petals. 

The birdsong here, more disorganised squawks than a melody, couldn’t be described as sweet-sounding but she was happy to hear it nonetheless. She had never seen a bird flying _there_. This, this was the sound of freedom. They were free: sitting in a meadow of their own. They made it, they were _here,_ they _survived_ , they were _alive_ and soon they’ll go home. Home to _safety_ , home to the hope of finding some of her family alive. 

Erik sat beside her, weaving a necklace using metal he scavenged. A coin here, a paperclip there. People hardly notice such small things in the midst of chaos. 

They walked towards her house together, and when Magda spotted it, she could scarcely believe she wasn’t dreaming. They opened the gate and walked in. 

Before they reached her front door, they were confronted by a man with a shotgun in his hand. 

“What?” he said, “You are alive? You are _here_? Get off this property!” 

“But this is mine. My family owned this land,” she said. 

“No more. This is all mine now.” 

They begged him to at least let them sleep in the stables, but he ordered them off, as if Magda and her mother hadn’t toiled for years to afford this piece of land. The necklace around her neck twitches and she _knows_. Knows, from the dark look on Erik’s face, what will happen if she doesn’t stop him. There’s metal all around them, but this isn’t worth fighting over, not now. 

“Let’s just go,” she said, taking one of Erik’s trembling hands. “We can get help in Bucharest.” 

Magda takes one final look at her childhood home, a home that isn’t hers, not anymore. She blinks away tears and forces herself to walk away. 

When they got to the main station in Poland, it was dark. No electricity, nobody waiting, nobody anywhere. Once the train arrived, they sat down wordlessly. Side-by-side. They had to. They had no one else left. All through these years, she had to keep fighting, not to worry, not to think. But now, she realised there was nobody left. Nothing for them to return to. 

They spent the first night clinging to each other in the dingy hotel room they were put into. They don’t sleep much. They take turns drifting off and when Erik’s asleep, Magda drinks him in. Marvels at him, present and whole. Neither of them dared to turn off the lights. They needed to see each other, just to make sure they were still there, to know the other was present and solid. 

She stumbles over the words, not as eloquent in her second tongue and delirious with exhaustion. Still, she tries. Repeats the endearments over and over: _Süsser,_ _Liebling, Schatz._ He returns them in Romani: _Pisliskurja, Kambulin, Ves'tacha._ Endearments he learnt a lifetime ago, to make her happy. To show her she was loved. We are not numbers, she thinks, running a finger down Erik’s arm. Not any more. 

**1956**

The first time, she trashes violently in the sheets and wakes up with a start. Erik’s are different. The metal in the room screeches and sags, crushed by an invisible weight. He cries out sometimes, _Mama, Herr Doktor_ and _Nein_. He doesn’t offer and she doesn’t ask. He gives her the same courtesy. Eventually, they become routine. Nightmares are faced with a calm familiarity that somehow does nothing to dampen her terror. 

Though she can never truly escape it, Magda tries not to think about their daughter in conjunction with what happened during the war - that was the past and it was behind them. This was what was in front of them: new life. Nina. 

She still marvels at the sight that greets her when she wakes up: sunlight dappling the floor golden. Mornings are her favourite. Watching Erik’s deep breathing, the rise and fall of blankets. 

They save up and head to the market together. There are times when they go separately, but they always, always, head there together at least once a week. Magda takes time to savour everything: the crunch of twigs underneath her fraying shoes, the smell of freshly baked bread, Erik’s hand in hers, fingers intertwined. They buy yellow dresses dotted with white flowers for Nina. Indulge in the occasional sweet. The sheer amount of colour astounded her. Orange, purple, green, brown. Their stomachs still aren’t used to the immense amount of sugar, so they go slowly.

For some reason, there are never any insects around their food, no matter how long they leave it unattended. 

“They’re my friends,” Nina says, smiling. “I tell them that my Papa works really hard for this and that it’s ours, so they leave it alone.” 

“You have very good friends,” Magda says, meeting Erik’s eyes and giving him a knowing smile. 

“They’re nice,” Nina replies, but there’s a little less lustre in her voice.

Magda trades telling eyes with Erik. “What is it, Nina?” 

“The children at school... They always make fun of me for talking with the stray cats on the way home,” Nina says, staring intently at the ant that’s inching across the table.

“Am I weird?” 

Erik reaches across the table to take her hand. “Nina? Listen to me, sweetheart. People make fun of the things they envy. What makes you different is what makes you special. Better. Do you understand?” 

She nods. Even smiles. 

They walk to school together, holding hands. 

**1959**

“Better,” Magda echoes. Erik stops and looks up at her. It’s an old argument, one they both wish could be forgotten. And yet. 

“We had no childhood. Our lives stopped when we got there. Now, we’re older, robbed of those years which we were supposed to grow up in. We never had time to be _children_. I won’t let Nina grow up the same way.” 

“We’ve already lost our youth to them,” Magda says in a voice she hopes is firm but gentle. “Let’s not be prisoners to hatred any longer.” 

“Even after all this time, we’ve never truly left the camps,” Erik tells her, his voice unusually empty. “We can never leave.” 

It’s admission, defeat, but not surrender. Magda is silent for a moment. A part of her hates them, and always will, for teaching her to hate, but she resents herself too, for her naivety. For thinking that injustice and bigotry would just cease to exist outside the walls of Auschwitz. 

“When I see people the same age as my mother, I have a terrible feeling,” Erik admits quietly. “Why couldn’t she still be walking, and talking, and be amongst us? It shouldn’t be a privilege to reach that age.” 

“I know. I have it, too. We all do. But we can’t let it define us. We’re building something good here.” 

Erik is silent, but she knows he isn’t convinced. It’s both a blessing and a curse, to be so intimately aware of each other. Soulmates. It was supposed to be simple - move on, marry her childhood sweetheart, start a family - she now knows it’s anything but. She’s done all of that, but there is so much more. They share the colours they use to take the world in, but they don’t see the world in the same way. 

Magda wraps her arms around him, the distant, driven man she married and hopes that it’s enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Credit where credit is due, parts of this fic were inspired by Forgotten Voices of the Holocaust by Lyn Smith, and the ~~leaked~~ script for X-Men Origins: Magneto. 
> 
> For the timeline, I took the liberty of blending comics canon, movie canon and historical events.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
